


Make You Miss Me

by eleonorastay



Category: Good Trouble (TV), The Fosters (TV 2013)
Genre: Anti-Brallie, F/M, Intimacy, Melancholy, NOT FOR BRALLIE SHIPPERS, Pining, Post-breakup, Some Vague Brallie-Bashing, Some Vague Mentions of Past Brallie, T for some Intimacy, Wyallie - Freeform, Wyatt/Callie, mentions of past relationships - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-12-07 20:23:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20981819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eleonorastay/pseuds/eleonorastay
Summary: Callie has a hard time forgetting about Wyatt and the good times they shared.





	Make You Miss Me

“Caaaaalllllie! Wake up!!!!”

Lifting up the pillow currently resting on top of her head, Callie squinted up at her sister. Mariana was standing by her bed fully dressed, hands on her hips.

“Let’s go, sleepyhead! Jude and Brandon have already showered, and you KNOW once Jesus gets in there, all the hot water will be gone!!!”

“I don’t care,” Callie mumbled, diving back into the warm abyss of blankets. To be honest, she hadn’t had a successful night of sleep in weeks. She would get to the point where her brain would go hazy, and then something would make her feel too uncomfortable to actually go to sleep for good. It definitely wasn’t her mattress that was the problem—she’d never had trouble sleeping on it before—and she’d tried every sleep position she could think of.

Mariana waited a beat before sighing, “Whatever.”

Heavy footsteps thundered past their door, almost immediately being followed by a triumphant “Boo-yah!”

“Enjoy your cold shower, whenever you decide to get up.” Mariana separated her hair into three thick black strands and began to braid, pretending like she wasn’t watching her roommate out of the corner of her eye.

Callie didn’t move.

Rolling her eyes, Mariana tied off the braid and flounced out of the room.

Once her sister was safely downstairs and the only thing she could hear was Jesus’ soft tenor singing Frank Sinatra, Callie shifted against the pillow and tried to let herself drift off.

“CALLIE! HONEY, CAN YOU COME DOWNSTAIRS PLEASE?” Stef’s “mom-in-charge-voice” boomed up the stairs, shattering any possibility of going back to sleep.

Groaning, Callie sat up and wrestled her bedhead into a topknot. Not even bothering to get dressed, she stumbled to the top of the stairs, her eyelids begging to stay closed. “What?”

“Good morning to you too,” Brandon smirked, earning a dirty look.

Stef fought back a smile at her daughter’s disheveled appearance. “Oh, there you are, honey! Brandon and I are going to the mall to get Mike a present for his birthday, Jude is out with Connor, and Mama is…”

“Grant stuff,” Lena reminded her wife as she entered from the kitchen, kissing Stef on the cheek. “So it’s just you, Jesus, and Mariana for now. You’re in charge.”

“Um. Cool.” Battling a yawn, Callie stood up a little straighter. After all the times she had betrayed Lena and Stef’s trust, it was important that she proved herself to be responsible. Hopefully she could keep Jesus and Mariana from getting into any trouble.

“Wait, why does she get to be in charge?!” Mariana yelped. “She was partially in charge when we had that stupid house party!”

Head snapping up, Brandon hissed, “Hey, I thought we weren’t talking about that!”

Lena squeezed her son’s shoulder. “I’m sure she can hold down the fort for a few hours.”

“Totally.” Trying to surreptitiously rub some drool-crust off her chin with the back of her hand, she gave her parents the biggest smile she could muster. Then the mention of the house party—and the memory of who exactly had helped her attempt to keep said party under control—slammed into her with the force of a tornado.

D*** it. She thought she’d forgotten all about that. And about him. She hadn’t seen Wyatt in forever. But that was okay. It wasn’t like she missed him or anything. After all, she was used to people coming in and out of her life. Sure, it sucked to not have her best friend around anymore, but she was over it.

Over him.

It was weird, the way that memories worked. One would resurface, and it was like a crack in a reservoir, widening until a flood of past moments spilled out and saturated everything in its wake.

She came across Jude and Mariana having a “spa night” in the living room, bottles of nail polish covering the coffee table and cotton balls stuffed in between their toes. At first, it seemed just like another night—Jude’s precious grin, Mariana debating the pros and cons of pastels versus jewel tones—but as she settled onto the couch to join them, suddenly all she could think about was the one time Wyatt had walked in on the same scenario…

“Whoa, what’s going on here?” her boyfriend had asked, raising an eyebrow.  
Jude and Mariana had looked up guiltily at the two older teens, a dripping purple polish glistening on the tips of both of their fingers.

Grimacing, Callie had searched for a way to explain away her brother’s obsession with manicures without hurting Jude’s feelings. “Um, well...”

“You guys weren’t gonna even invite me to your thing?” Plopping down onto the living room carpet, Wyatt had stuck his hands out, palms down, and tilted his head. “You know, I was thinking I could spruce these up for work tomorrow. What do you think?”

Neither Mariana nor Callie could keep from gaping. Beaming, Jude had nodded and pointed to a bottle of deep red. “You should do that one!”

“Ok. I trust your judgment.” Twisting sideways, Wyatt murmured to Callie, “You should probably do it. I’m not so good at this stuff.”

A squeal had popped out of Mariana’s mouth. “Mine are almost dry! I’ll do yours!” Practically launching herself across the coffee table, the fashionista snatched the polish Jude had selected and twisted the cap. All Callie could do was catch Wyatt’s eye, wrap her hand around the back of his neck, and let the back-and-forth movement of her thumb communicate her thanks...

“Callie?”

“What?” Snapping back to reality, Callie turned to look at her brother.

“Which one do you want?” he asked innocently.

Swallowing, she answered “Um, the red one,” and dipped her head so she wouldn’t have to see the understanding look of pity Mariana was surely throwing her way.

It was just nail polish. No big deal.

After that, it was like cracks in the reservoir just kept appearing, letting memory after memory escape. Callie was drowning, and it was all she could do to keep her head above water. An innocent attempt at cleaning out her locker resulted in finding the stack of dog-eared and pen-marked books Wyatt had let her borrow for Timothy’s class. The blazing realization that he had never once complained about her failing to return any of them made her stomach queasy. For a moment, she considered leaving them outside his locker with a note. After settling down with a pen and a notebook, however, she realized that she had no idea what to say. Thirteen minutes of wasted ink and a pile of ripped-up shreds of paper later, she ended up accidentally-on-purpose leaving them in Daphne’s car after group with a half-hearted hope that he’d come across them on his own.

It wasn’t just books. On an oddly chilly Friday, she was already halfway to work before she realized that when she had thrown on the first lightweight jacket she could find, she’d managed to grab the very one that Wyatt had lent her during one of their first dates. The leather still smelled like him, and the collar tickled the back of her neck. If the wind hadn’t been blowing so badly outside, she would have just left it in the car. How badly her cheeks burned when she walked into work and was accosted by Daphne’s catcalls and Tony’s compliments.

“Just something I got from a donation bin a while ago,” she fibbed, stripping off the offending garment and replacing it with her stained apron. The lie tasted sour in her mouth, and she wondered how long it would take for Wyatt’s scent to rub off her skin.

One afternoon, she was in the car with Mike and Jesus, supervising another driving lesson. D’Angelo’s “Lady” suddenly came on the radio, and she instantly found herself crouched over in the back seat, fighting off the recollection of one of her and Wyatt’s failed attempts to consummate their relationship. It wasn’t until Mike switched off the music entirely, claiming that Jesus needed as few distractions as possible to focus, that she could take a full breath. 

What should have been a relaxing family trip to the beach was effectively ruined the moment Brandon grabbed her hand to drag her into the ocean. Her brother’s thin, bony fingers, though perfect for piano playing, couldn’t fill the spaces between hers the way Wyatt’s had. It was a stupid thing to miss—the feel of his hand in hers—but she couldn’t keep her body from reacting, ripping her hand out of Brandon’s grip.

“What’s with you?” he asked, the telltale wrinkle of trepidation appearing between his brows.

“Nothing,” she replied, voice shaking. “Nothing at all.”

The next time was in the kitchen after school. She’d been able to distract herself from thinking about Wyatt by focusing on something she’d been ignoring for far too long—homework. She was way behind in almost all of her classes, especially science and history. Teeth clamped onto the end of her pencil, she let out an involuntary grunt of frustration.

“You doing okay, love?” Hands busy with tossing a salad for the family’s dinner, Stef kept her tone light, but her eyes clearly betrayed her concern. Everyone had noticed Callie’s weird attitude lately, even Mike. Yes, she and Lena had decided not to push the matter by facilitating an official discussion, but she couldn’t help but worry anyway.

Looking up from a particularly baffling set of Chemistry formulas, Callie forced a nod. “Sure. Just trying to, um, figure this out.”

“Let Mama know if you need any help.” The blonde abandoned her project for a moment to walk over and give her daughter a quick side-hug. “You can do it!”

At first, it was just another hug from her mom. Wonderful, of course, and definitely appreciated, but hardly remarkable. It wasn’t until Stef pulled away and her fingers gently patted the back of Callie’s upper arm that she felt herself being pulled under yet another wave of memory:

Her and Wyatt, snuggled up in bed, the warm fabric of a cotton T-shirt pressed against her cheek. His hipbone matching the curve of her stomach. Smooth legs tangled in between sweatpants-clad ones, her toes barely brushing his calf. The soft stroke of his fingertips gliding across her skin, his hand disappearing slightly under her shirtsleeve. Tingles always ran from her shoulder to her wrist when he did that, and she’d struggle to keep her breathing even enough to match his heartbeat.

It never mattered where they were. Her room at home, the couch at Daphne’s apartment, nestled in the backseat of his car, even that one night they’d spent in the motel after she’d run away. He always ran his fingers up her arm in the same way. Those moments never ceased to feel incredibly intimate, even more so than sex. Somehow, lying there with him, she always, always felt safe, yet exposed. Like his fingers were weaving some kind of protective shield into her skin, while simultaneously ripping her apart and laying everything she’d hidden away inside bare.

It hadn’t been like that with other guys. None of the boyfriends she’d had in her younger days were the type to snuggle, unless they were getting a make-out from the experience. Liam had liked to grab things: her arm, her hip, her chin; anything he could reach. Possession had been his goal, to claim her body for his own. Even Brandon hadn’t felt the same. Whenever they’d had a spare moment together, she could never get him to slow down long enough to do anything even close to cuddling. His hands—and hers, she had to admit—had communicated a hurried hunger, a deep-seated lust. With Brandon, it was like they were always running out of time; with Wyatt, there was no goal to race towards, nothing she had to worry about failing to reach. The sensation of his fingers tracing the cloudy blue veins in her arms had always been enough, whether they lasted an entire night or only a few precious minutes.

“Honey?” Unable to help herself, Stef brought her palm to rest against her daughter’s forehead, searching for sign of a fever. “You okay?”

Callie blinked. “Hm?” Fingernails scrubbed against her skin, striving to scrape away the ghost of Wyatt’s touch.

“Dinner’s ready.”

Ugh. Yet another night where she was wide awake. Three cups of Sleepy Time Tea had done nothing except make her have to pee every five seconds, and she had a headache, likely due to borrowing Lena’s lavender oil. Thumbs digging into her temples, she glanced over at Mariana snoring softly in her bed and felt a surge of jealousy.

BUZZZZ! At first, the sound of the vibration startled her, but her heartbeat slowed as soon as she realized that it was just her phone buzzing. Reaching over, she plucked it from its perch on the windowsill. 12:23. Who would bother to text her this late? The sides of Callie’s throat itched as one possibility entered her mind.

What if it was him, right now, trying to contact her? Apologizing, asking for another chance? Perhaps the universe had been trying to tell her something all along, and that was why she had been failing to get him off of her mind for weeks on end.

It had to be him. It just had to be.

Tapping the screen, she clicked on the messaging icon, the corners of her mouth pulling taut. They immediately relaxed, however, once she saw the bolded name next to the most recent message:

DAPHNE: Hey, I forgot to tell you until just now that I can’t work tomorrow. Cover my shift?

Texting back “sure”, she chewed on her bottom lip, pretending to ignore the disappointment clawing at her insides. Of course it wouldn’t be him. That would be stupid. There was no reason for him to text her, anyway.

Back to not sleeping, then. Flopping over onto her back for what felt like the eightieth time that night, she visually traced the patterns on the ceiling. They reminded her of constellations, the names and shapes of which she’d never bothered to memorize. Maybe she should have paid better attention in astronomy—at least then she could go sit by the window and search for the real shapes in the stars. Kill some time, instead of just lying here, staring at what looked like a deformed bicycle and an erupting volcano and a dolphin.

A dolphin. There was that flood again, drowning her in waves upon waves of lost moments and memories tucked away.

“Nope, nope, nope,” she whispered to herself, twisting facedown again and burying her head in her arms. Thinking about Wyatt would do nothing to help her sleep—quite the opposite, in fact. Especially if what she thought about included all the moments they’d spent doing…stuff on her bed, with no one but the dolphin watching. 

Then again. It was possible that trying not to think about him had caused the problem in the first place. Maybe if she gave in and let herself remember, the thoughts would dry up and stop bothering her altogether. Hadn’t her therapist repeatedly recommended that she “accept the truth of the past” or whatever?

Fine. Acceptance time.

“Here we go,” Callie sighed. The only question was where should she begin?

That sunshine laugh, full and warm. How she could feel him watching her serve customers at work, ready to give any rude patrons the evil eye on her behalf. That stupid snake tattoo pick-up-line that still brought a smile to her face, even now. Blonde eyelashes tickling her cheekbone as he kissed the corner of her mouth. Cleaning his car until they were both drenched with sweat, then going for a quick swim in the ocean to cool off, ignoring all the stares of beachgoers as they splashed around fully clothed. His lips on her collarbone, while her teeth needled his ear. That melodramatic silent movie about the badger that had been their first official date; as well as a never-ending inside joke. The night she had burnt the lasagna and they’d ended up eating cereal instead, standing on opposite sides of the kitchen and tossing Lucky Charm marshmallows into each others’ mouths—she’d won that game, of course. All those times he would reach over and fix her seatbelt for her. Borrowing his flannel button-downs and secretly relishing the teasing of her sister and brothers when she’d wear them to breakfast…

Wait.

“Oh my God.” Careful not to move too quickly lest the mattress squeak, she rolled out of bed and tiptoed over to the dresser. Glancing over to make sure Mariana was still asleep, she eased open the bottom drawer and rifled through its contents.

“Come on, come on…” Impatient, Callie crumpled the neatly folded clothes and tossed them aside, leaving the drawer almost empty, until she finally found what she was looking for.

A lone gray T-shirt with a tiny hole in the right sleeve, rolled into a small square and squeezed into the very back corner. Pinching the soft, worn cotton between her fingers, she held it close to her chest and leaped back into bed. After checking one last time that Mariana still hadn’t awoken, she shimmied out of her pajama top and slipped the T-shirt over her head.

Like the jacket, it still smelled like him, only this time, the scent was more comforting than upsetting. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to imagine that it was Wyatt pressed close to her skin, holding her as she pulled the comforter back up to her chest. 

It was surprisingly easy to pretend.

“This is so cliché,” she murmured to herself. But the heaviness of her eyelids was too welcome for her to be really annoyed. As she finally drifted off to sleep for the first time in weeks, she granted herself one last visual vice: emptying her mind of everything except the image of Wyatt, a huge smile on his face.  


**Author's Note:**

> Soooo this is super old and for a couple that was *not* popular (don't ask me why, I was obsessed with them) but Wyallie deserved better and since there's no fan fiction for them, I guess it's up to me! Lol let me if how you liked it. <3


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